


No Joke

by orphan_account



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Murder, Blood and Gore, Creepypasta, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gore, Guilt, Murder, Not Beta Read, Psychological Trauma, based on a dream i had (well more like a nightmare), i'm the main character, lots of gore, please for the love of god read the warnings and tags, sorry not sorry cause this is pretty graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29698002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. Preface

Preface

I watch myself walk around in front of the camera on my phone, pausing to inspect myself on the tiny screen. I’m wearing a spotless white button-up with the sleeves rolled over my elbows. My jeans are loose, too wide for my waist, and sullied with dirt and other filth. Peaking out from beneath the cuffs of my pants are my feet, unexposed to the camera’s view but are pretty with black nail polish.  
Barely audible to my audience, she whined softly in her chair behind me, taking me out of my trance. I cleared my throat as I straightened up, leaning closer towards the camera.  
“Hello everyone!" I announce breathlessly, giddy with excitement.  
“Today I have something extra special planned to show you all, so I hope you guys enjoy it, maybe have a laugh or two. I guess it's not the usual type of content you might see here on Instagram, but maybe you will find it all the better considering I am the lovely host for the show!”  
"Hmmm," I murmur, "there seems to be a lot of you commenting. Eager to get started?" I chuckle. I use my pointer finger to scroll down the comments on the screen.  
“I’m confused,” I read.  
“what’s going on, I just joined," said the others. I even got a few "this is freaking me out, I'm leaving". I smiled.  
"Be patient," I type back quickly, stepping away from the screen. Turning my back to the camera, I walk across the damp pavement of my cellar towards her, my bare feet echoing around the room as I walked. She is sitting upright now, her limbs still tightly bound to the chair. Her chin is slightly raised in my direction, and even with a blindfold, she can still sense my location. How smart.  
"They are ready for you," I bent over and whispered into her ear. She wept behind her gag, struggling to break free against the rope.  
"Oh c'mon now, don't cry," I said, "we're going to have so, so much fun. The show is just about to begin."


	2. ONE

Chapter I

It all began on a tuesday night: my only free time of the week, where I can socialize and act like a normal human without having to spend 6 hours at practice. Naturally, a few close friends of mine and I got together, we were happy to spend our precious free time making memories with each other. After a few hours of drinking, eating junk and chatting, my friend Lexie offered to play a game of "who's most likely to," and naturally, everyone got excited. We played a few rounds, getting more and more bored: needing to spice things up a bit. I asked Sophie to ask some harder, more scandalous (if you will) questions. Now it’s getting fun. A few rounds later I'm voted most likely to be to have the weirdest fetishes, survive the zombie apocalypse, and become a murderer. Now, of course, a girl like me would find that funny. I remember I had laughed at it along with everyone harmlessly, admiring how they've picked up on the more mysterious and interesting parts of my character instead of the sides they've wanted to see of me. The joke wasn't entirely comical in itself, there appeared to be a little bit of a truth with it that made it seem all the funnier. I guess I would consider myself mysteriously different. I've always thought about serious situations in a new light. One that would have me juggling around the lives of players like some kind of circus game. I wasn't the most talkative person either. Sure, I loved to laugh now and then, see people I could be myself around, etc. But I always preferred to keep to myself. I had a lot of friends in school, in dance even, some of them admiring me for what was more than a friendship. I would always get compliments if you would even call them that.  
"You could murder me and I'd say thank you," some girls would say. Others even went as far as to mention a "carve me."  
I suppose it wasn't normal to receive these kinds of things. I was used to abnormal, I thrived in it. I enjoyed the power I had, and I got better at using it to my advantage.   
Perhaps I've gotten a little too good. 

Maybe, their joke about my future wasn't all that far off after all. Maybe they didn’t even have to wait for my future to come to see it happen.

Now shes sitting here, tied up to a chair in my basement. I’ve set up my phone against a glass on the table so my viewers can see directly what is about to happen. She doesn’t struggle against her restraints, her hands and feet bound behind her in the chair. She is limp, her head softly drooped against the back of the chair. I stand beside the camera as I watch people join the Instagram live, typing in confused comments. “What the fuck?” A viewer comments. “Who is that,” someone else replies. The comments excite me and I wait eagerly beside the phone, waiting for the perfect moment to introduce myself to my audience. I hear the wood of the chair creak, watching her attempt to sit up against her restraints. She whines, a helpless, drawn out cry, echoing in the dark room like a lullaby to my ears. Perfect time to commence my little show. Stepping aside I present myself to the camera. I look at myself in the screen, I’m wearing a perfect white button up with the sleeves rolled over my elbows. My jeans are soiled with dirt and grime, my feet unexposed to the camera’s view but are pretty with black nail polish adoring them below me. I clear my throat. “Hello everyone!” I announce breathlessly, giddy with excitement. “Today I have something special to show you all, so I hope you guys enjoy, maybe have a laugh or too. Maybe it’s not usually the type of content you’d see here on Instagram, buttt maybe you’ll find it interesting considering I am the host for the show!” I scroll down the comments on the screen. “I’m confused,” some say, “what’s going on,” say the others. ‘Be patient’ I type back, stepping away from the screen. My bare feet echo across the damp pavement of the basement as I walk towards her, tied up against the chair. She is sitting upright, her chin ever-so-slightly raised at me, even with a blindfold and gag she can still sense my direction. How smart. I reach my hand out to stroke her chin, so soft. Her cheeks damp with tears cupped in my hands, they feel so perfect. They belong to me. My soft smile quickly fades into a scowl as I observe the rest of her body. So perfect, her thick thighs pooling from her jeans. Her waist perfectly even to her chest, not a flaw physically existent. It sickened me. “Filthy,” I spat. I listened to her whimper against the gag a few times before I slapped my hand across her face, causing her to moan in pain. “Shut up, whore,” I said, stepping away from her body. I chuckled. Walking back to the counter, I noticed the view count had rose to 200. Lovely. The more the merrier, I suppose. 

Grabbing a knife from the table I dragged it across her breasts, pushing deep into the sweetest spot above her left nipple. I watched as the skin around the blade quickly pooled with a thick blood, dripping down her chest. She whimpered again. Leaning down to her chest, I lapped up the blood. “Since you want to act like a prostitute slut, running your dirty mouth with any guy you can get your hands on, maybe you would like to finally be claimed and owned by someone, hm? Would you like that?” She didn’t move. “Answer me,” I forcefully grabbed her face. She nodded ever so slightly. “Very well.” I carved my name into her thigh. Then i took a chain saw and cut off her legs, then her head. Said goodbye to the viewers. I packed up her body and dumped in an alleyway.


	3. TWO

I watched my follower count decrease from 1,100 to 44 in a day. I got hate threats, wishing death upon me. I thought they had enjoyed it, expected it from me. I was upset. I walked down the same alleyway in which her body remained. I was knocked out. When i woke up I was still there, the smell of sweet garbage around me. People from schoola nd dance surrounded me. They took turns beating me up. Stabbing me over and over, making sure i kept consiousness. Then they poured gasoline over my body. And set me on fire. The end.


End file.
